As we approached the house
wonderful smells wafted
toward us. The dog, of course,
got excited first, his nostrils
twittering. He had prepared
lunch, a feast actually,
gourmet — pork tenderloin
stuffed with Italian sausage
and spices, baked in the
oven and seared on the grill,
seafood salad from scratch,
broccoli al dente. What’s the
propane torch for? Crème Brule.
Half-way through the moist and
tender tenderloin, he started
talking about early life ex-
periences, an absent mother,
meddling, judgmental relatives,
reasons, explanations, a way of
making sense out of mistakes,
wrong turns, regrettable
actions. He sought expiation
more than explanations and
that was the desert he was
offered as we cracked the crust
of his Brule.